“This forest is restless,” Ilsevele said as they rested beside a forest pool, eating their midday meal. “I do not think I have ever walked in a forest so wakeful.”
“There are parts that are even more wild,” Jorin said. “Many of my people live within the forest, but even those of us with elf blood avoid the truly wakeful places. And I think things have been growing worse over the last few years.”
“Worse? How so?” asked Araevin.
“There have always been fierce beasts in the wood, things like barghests and gray renders, ettercaps and sword spiders, even a few bands of gnolls in the eastern parts, but the unnatural creatures have been growing more prevalent… and bloodthirsty.” Jorin gazed off into the woods, frowning. “I would give much to know what dark power is stirring in these woods.”
“Maybe the star elves know something,” Maresa remarked.
Jorin shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible,” he said. “But they do not walk in the same forest that we do. It might be different for them.”
“They don’t walk in the same forest? What does that mean?” the genasi asked. “Are they here, or not?”
“They’re here, all right. I can’t easily explain it, but you’ll see for yourself soon enough,” Jorin said. He stood up, brushing off his hands, and looked up at the forest canopy overhead. “We should keep moving-I want to get a few more miles behind us before it gets dark. We’re going to find ourselves in some of the more perilous parts of the forest before we reach Sildeyuir.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
16 Kythorn, the Year of Lightning Storms
Company after company of Sembian soldiers marched over the Blackfeather Bridge, a disorderly river of steel-clad warriors, horses, and creaking wagons that stretched for miles over Rauthauvyr’s Road. The day was warm and heavy, drowsy under the morning sun. The summer was still young, and though the days were long and bright, the air held only a dim promise of the stifling heat and great thunderstorms that would come to the southern Dales in a few tendays.
Sarya Dlardrageth stood by the shaded porch of a large stone inn on the bridge’s northern end, with a small band of her fey’ri beside her: Teryani Ealoeth, one of her closer relations among the fey’ri Houses, and four more fey’ri who served Teryani as guards, spies, or messengers. Sarya wore her guise as the human Lady Senda, while the fey’ri had all likewise assumed human appearance. Borstag Duncastle certainly had half an idea of Sarya’s true nature, but none of the other Sembians did. The daemonfey queen deemed it best to let them continue in ignorance.
Teryani Ealoeth watched the marching soldiers with studied disinterest. She was short and slender, with a dark-eyed, heart-shaped face of exceptional beauty. One of the first spies Sarya had sent out into the human lands surrounding Cormanthor, Teryani’s task had been to insinuate herself into the councils of those Sembian lords who were most concerned with Cormanthor and the Dalelands. Unlike other fey’ri, who saw no reason to hide their heritage behind shapechanging tricks unless they had to, Teryani delighted in deceit as an end in and of itself. More than a few of the human soldiers passing by the inn yard leered at her or offered various lewd suggestions, which she simply ignored with a cold, scornful smile.
“Are these really worth the trouble, my lady?” Teryani asked Sarya. Her voice was girlish and sweet.
“They are,” Sarya said. “Remember, Teryani, I could hardly care less whether the army of Evermeet scatters them in an hour of fighting. The important thing is to set Sembia against Evermeet. If Miritar’s host butchers this army like bleating sheep, we will have our Sembian friends gather more swords and throw them at Miritar. Evermeet’s soldiers are precious, but I have no shortage of Sembians, do I?” She paused, and added, “In fact, it might not be bad if these companies blundered into an utter disaster in Cormanthor. Sembia is too strong for my liking, and I’d like to see it bled dry in these little flyspeck lands they call the Dales.”
“I will see what I can do,” Teryani promised, and she returned her attention to the human soldiers marching past.
The Sembian army wasn’t Sembian at all, really. Companies of Chondathan crossbowmen, Chessentan swordsmen, and Tethyrian cavalrymen in half-plate armor made up most of the army’s fighting power. All had been hired by a league of Sembian noble Houses with interests in the Dales and the Moonsea trade routes, headed up by House Duncastle. In fact, some of the mercenaries had been in the employ of Duncastle for years, engaged in such tasks as the occupation of Scardale and the protection of House Duncastle’s Moonsea caravans. Others had been quickly hired under the authorization of Sembia’s Great Council of merchant lords, ostensibly for the purposes of restoring good order and protecting Sembian investments in the Dalelands.
Native-born Sembians themselves were not very common among Duncastle’s soldiers, but then again, Sembia didn’t really have an army. Instead, the largest and most powerful of the land’s various noble merchant Houses each fielded their own private army, some numbering many hundreds in strength. Any Sembian city or town had a small civic guard and town watch, of course, and the Overmaster of Sembia-the elected leader of Sembia’s Great Council-commanded the loyalty of the Ordulin Guard, a small but well-equipped army that defended the capital and served to check any unreasonable ambitions on the part of the more powerful noble Houses. But by and large, any Sembian lord was free to raise and provision an army, if he saw the need for one. The troops of House Duncastle were the largest Sembian contingent in the whole army, and they made up no more than five hundred of an army whose strength was more than ten times that number.
“Mercenaries,” Sarya Dlardrageth murmured, not bothering to conceal her disdain.
She glanced over at the shade of a nearby oak, where Lord Duncastle stood beneath the broad branches, consulting with the chief captains of his army.
The merchant prince Borstag Duncastle finished with his captains, and sauntered over to watch the army pass by with her and Teryani. Sarya wrinkled her nose, unable to ignore the stink of his human blood so close to her, but with an iron effort of will she smoothed her face. Like it or not, humans were allies she needed to entice and persuade. In her war against the High Forest and Evereska she had been able to simply intimidate and browbeat the wild orcs and ogres of the Nether Mountains into marching at her command, but humans required more subtlety. Until she managed to bring them to blows with Miritar’s army, she needed to consider her words and actions carefully. Long ago in ancient Siluvanede she had learned how to whisper a word in one ear, begin a rumor somewhere else, plot a skillful murder in another place, bringing one elven House after another into her growing web of influence. Her work among the human powers of Cormanthor was not very different, really… except in this case she regarded her tools as eminently disposable.
Duncastle glanced at her, let his gaze linger on Teryani’s slender form for a moment, and looked back to Sarya.
“Good afternoon, Lady Senda,” he said in his deep voice. “You will be pleased to know that I have come to value Lady Terian’s counsel quite highly in the last few tendays, especially in martial matters. For such a delicate creature, she has a mind of steel.”
Sarya forced a smile to her face. “She enjoys my full confidence, Lord Duncastle. And in turn I am pleased by Terian’s reports of your army’s progress. I did not expect you to assemble such a large force in so little time.”